"Buddy," Colt called, opening the door, and Dana followed him.

He turned on the lights, setting his keys on a table by the door. Buddy came down the stairs yawning and stretching. "Lazy lump," Colt told him.

He went to the back sliding door and waited for Buddy to make his way outside. "Takes him a while to wake up," Colt said, sliding the door shut. He turned to her, "Coffee?"

"Sure," Dana replied, slipping off her jacket and laying it across the back of the gray plush couch.

She followed him into the kitchen. The floor was yellow as well as the cabinets and counters.

A small round table was in the left corner of the room with two chairs. There was a door behind it leading to the driveway.

On a peg next to the door was a yellow fireman jacket and hat.

"Expecting a fire?" Dana giggled at the unexpected sight, picked up the helmet, and placed it on her head.

Colt laughed seeing her in it. "I was a volunteer firefighter."

"Really?" she asked surprised.

He filled the coffee maker with beans. "Another little-known fact about Colt James."

"So, you don't do it anymore?" Dana asked, slipping on the jacket.

Colt tried not to chuckle at the sight Dana made in his fireman jacket. It was huge on her but she looked adorable. "No. I had to resign because they found out about...the attacks. They didn't want to risk my having one while on a rescue. I keep forgetting to put that stuff away."

"How come you did it in the first place?" She asked, taking off the jacket and hanging it back up.

He leaned against the counter. "Because I wanted to do something to make a difference," he answered simply.

"Hmm...interesting." She took off the helmet and set it back on its peg.

Colt raised an eyebrow and chuckled."Interesting?"

"I'm beginning to see your inner psyche," Dana held up her index finger, moved it in a circle directed at his head.

Colt's smile faded. "That's a pretty scary place."

"Oh, I don't know. I think you like to pretend it is. But really..." she said, walking over to him. "I think you're a big softie underneath," Dana told him, poking him in the chest with the same finger.

Colt laughed."You think?" he grabbed her finger and pulled her closer.

"Yes, I do," she said challengingly while looking him in the eye. Her eyes dropped to his lips and she licked hers.

His breath hitched. "You really have no clue at all about me, do you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at her.

Dana took another step closer. "I'd like to get to know you better," she answered, raising her chin.

"How much better?" he asked intrigued.

"All the way," she told him, putting a hand on his chest.

"Dana..."

She sighed. "Colt, you need to trust me. I want to be your friend, but if you're not willing to open up to me..."

Colt ran a hand through his hair. "Okay. What do you want to know?"

Dana gently rubbed her hand up and down his chest. "Would you tell me about your scars? And I mean the real story. Please?"

"You would have to start with that," he groaned and then pinched the bridge if his nose.

"You don't want to tell me?"

Colt sidestepped her and started pacing the room. "It's not that, Dana." He ran his hand through his hair again. His eyes had widened and focused on the floor.

"You're scared to tell me," she said, suddenly understanding.

Colt looked up and looked her straight in the eyes. "My father tried to kill me."

She paled. "You're kidding," she said. What else could she say?

He shook his head. Colt cleared his throat. "He killed my mother," he managed to get out.

"God, Colt," She rushed over to him and threw her arms around him.

He backed away. "You wanted to know about me, Dana?! You think you can you handle it?" his voice had taken on a panicked yet sarcastic tone.

"Colt, I want to know. You can trust me."

He closed his eyes and turned away from her. "He'd beat her, rape her. And when he was done, he'd come in and beat me for either trying to get him off of her or for calling the cops. This happened on a fairly regular basis. Whenever he drank, which was a lot.  The night he killed her, I called the cops again.

I wonder all the time what would have happened if I hadn't called them. He had heard me call them. He killed her and then he turned the knife on me. The cops came in time to save my life, but it was too late for my mom. Maybe, if I hadn't called, she'd still be alive."

"Colt, it's not your fault. You couldn't have known what he'd do. You can't blame yourself," she said, trying to touch his shoulder in comfort. "You were only twelve years old. You did what you could to protect her. It was really brave."

He pulled away from her. "Nine," he corrected. "I was nine when...it happened."

"What? But...you came here when you were twelve."

Colt nodded. "I spent about six months in the hospital. Then another six months in a group foster home. And then two years bouncing around between relatives. Jesse's grandpa and my grandpa were distant cousins. Third or fourth, I guess. He wasn't the first one they sent me to, I had several take me in for a few months but they couldn't handle me having nightmares all the time or the panic attacks or my defensive attitude..."

"Oh, Colt..." She reached out a hand to him.

Colt coughed a couple of times. "I've been going to therapy for over twenty years, Dana. There's nothing you can say or do to make it all go away. It's not that easy."

"I'm sorry." Dana said simply.

He nodded. He knew she was. She was the type a person that would care. Whether she knew him very well or not.

Deep down, he'd always known that he could count on Dana if he wanted to. But up until now, he never wanted to. He hadn't wanted her to know about his past.

Colt didn't want to sully her innocence about the world. That there were monsters like his father out there, who looked normal but behind closed doors turned into your worst nightmare.

Colt cleared his throat again."On a happier note, the coffee's ready." He walked over to the pot.

Dana watched him in disbelief. How could he tell such a story and then turn around and make coffee?

Only hours before he had a panic attack for whatever small reason and here he was telling her his mother was raped and murdered by his father who, happened to try to kill him also, and oh, the coffee's ready? She didn't get him.

"Don't think about it... I do enough for everyone," Colt said quietly as he felt her watching him. He poured the coffee in two mugs.

"Colt, how do you..." she started.

"Live with it? I can't. Panic attacks, nightmares. I can't watch the news, rape and murder are on every second. No one can mention such innocent comments as 'I'm going to kill you'," he sighed.

"I like to drink to socialize, but I get drinking and I think of him... I look at a woman and all I think of is what if... what if I'm capable of doing what he did?"

Dana grabbed his arm. "Colt, you are nothing like him," she insisted.

"How do you know?" he demanded. "I'm his blood."

Dana put her hand around the back of his neck and pulled his head down as she went in for a kiss. She felt the surprise in his lips, the slight protest, but then Colt's arms came around her waist and he pulled her closer to deepen the kiss.

She had never been kissed so passionately before. Dana felt his need within her and she gave back to him what his lips, his tongue, and the something in him that he searching for that Dana wanted to give him.

She ran her hands across Colt's broad shoulders and then down to his collarbone as his hands went down her back to her hips. Colt groaned and her hands went to his chest. He pulled away.

She realized her hands were over his scars. And while he'd gone shirtless a few times in front of her and Jesse, no one had ever touched him there. She could understand why he wouldn't want to be touched where he was almost killed.

Dana kissed his jaw. "Don't think about it," she told him softly.

"Dana," his voice came out all shaky and breathless.

"Shh," She kissed him on the lips again.

She didn't want anything more than to kiss him. To taste him. Dana was dizzy with passion. She could no longer think but only feel. Dana felt Colt in her soul and there was nothing she ever wanted to feel again except how she felt when she was with him.

"Dana, I can't. " He pulled away and turned from her. "I'm sorry. I can't do this. I can't feel..."
He coughed.

Dana put her hand on his back. "It's okay," she said, rubbing her hand across his back.

She could feel him starting to breathe heavy and it wasn't from their kissing.

"Whenever you're ready. I'll be here," she told him. He started wheezing.

"Colt. Don't go there. Wherever you're going. Stop," she told him firmly, afraid he was going to start hyperventilating. "Breathe."

She slid in between him and the counter. He looked her in the eyes. "Don't go there, baby," Dana told him, touching his face gently with the back of her hand.

"You'd never hurt me. I trust you," she told him sincerely.

He took her hand in his, kissed it, turned it over, and placed her palm to his cheek. Colt closed his eyes. He put his head into Dana's shoulder and concentrated on breathing. She hugged him tight.

Colt squeezed her back. "Talk to me." He whispered.

"What about?" She asked gently.

"Anything, just talk. I don't want to think anymore."

Dana talked all night. They had moved from the kitchen into the living room and sat on the couch. Colt leaned against her shoulder.

She told him every single detail that she could remember about her trip to Italy, she told him about every damn person she ever met in college. Finally, after a few hours of her talking and close to her running out of things to say, he fell asleep on her shoulder.

Dana maneuvered herself into a lying down position and pulled a blanket that was on the back of the couch over them. She clicked off the lamp that was on the table next to them.

Dana closed her eyes, wrapped an arm around him, and went to sleep with Colt sleeping on her shoulder.